


Empty your Bucket (2/2)

by soazzar



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 16:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19322086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soazzar/pseuds/soazzar
Summary: After your fight with Micah Bell, you feel that things getting worse.





	Empty your Bucket (2/2)

Second part of my first fic "Empty your Bucket", english is still not my mothertongue, my apologies for mistakes!  
Gender neutral reader - 2.9k words 

Empty your Bucket - Part 2/2

 

“Yea, Mr. Morgan?” You asked looking at him, he was nervous. The way he rubs the back of his neck was saying it all. You waited for his answer as his stood in front of you.

“Dutch want to talk with ya’.”

“Talk or beat me to death?” You blurt, eyebrows furrowing. Right now, the last thing you want was to have a little chat with Dutch.

“Talk. But please, Y/N, don’t try to, y’know, argue. Give way.” He looks at you sternly.

This was not a good omen, you continue to clean your bloated face, sitting on your box, staring at him. Arthur steps forward and starts to remove the dust from your shirt, taping on your shoulders, going down your arms. You could feel he was nervous by the application he puts in this little task, avoiding your gaze. He cared about you, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t show it properly.

“Here you go”. He finally mumbled, after a few moments of barely cleaning you.

You stood up, throw the rag, take a deep breath and directed yourself to Dutch’s tent, thanking Arthur by the way.

***

The flaps were down, and you can’t hear anything from the inside. “Yeah, here I go” you think.

“Dutch, it’s me.” You say as you entered his tent. You find him sitting on his bed, pretending to read a book. By the way he closed it, with the snap it made, you can tell Dutch was angry and was waiting for you. Still sitting, he looks up at you from feet to head, face closes.

“Look at you, Y/N. Are you losing your mind? Fighting like an animal in the middle of the camp? Like we have nothing better to do?”

“Oh, please, don’t play daddy Dutch with me. Y’know Micah ‘s a moron and was searchin’ it.”

The muscles of his face contracted.

“You clearly don’t understand the point of it. I don’t give a horseshit of what you think.” He stood up, going forward to you in a threating way. “My gang, my rules. Follow it or leave it. Remember that without me – he pointed his chest marking a pause – you’ll be dead.” His voice was like a rumble.

About this fact you wasn’t so sure. But you didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. You still find it unfair.

You stay where you are, standing straight, and speak without flinching.

“I know. But I don’t understand why just a fight put you in this state. I defended myself.”

“Just a fight? Defended? You almost kill him!”

“And him? You don’t see he tries to stab me? Come. On.” Your voice gets louder, angrier.

He steps forward again, his face was only a few centimeters from yours.

“Just a fight, just under my nose? When I say follow my lead, it means a l l t h e t i m e. Understood?”

This was rhetorical; he wasn’t except you to answer. So he continues in a lower voice, almost in your ear, and it was very uncomfortable. You do your best to don’t move, but you sweat.

“So next time you defies my authority by fighting, you’ll regret that you didn’t get stab.”

He fixes your eyes in a very intense way, towering you; he does what he does the best, leading.

You feel defeated and looked down.

“Good. I don’t worry about Micah. I’ll speak with him too. So now, be a good kid and keep a low profile.” He steps and turns back, so you did.

You were about to leave his tent when he speaks to you again in a normal tone, almost friendly.

“Loyality, Y/N, it’s just what I’m askin’ for.”

You nod and leave, not sure of what exactly happen, feeling fuzzy. With the adrenaline going down, you start to feel your whole body aching, especially your head.

“Dutch Van der Lil‘Dick.” You mumbled through your gritted teeth, frustrated.

You keep your head down and walk fast to pick up the folded bucket, you even not greets Karen back, who waves at you in a cheering way, with a burning curiosity in her eyes. You go ahead to the horses to finish your core, quickly. You start to don’t feel well.

***

You spend the end of the afternoon comfy in your cot, still thinking about Dutch’s words. You feel trapped, because you were sure that Micah will seek his revenge, and if you play this game you might be fucked up. In the bottom of your heart, you were hoping that Micah was feeling worse than you, but you still had no regrets. Flashing of the fight came back to your mind, the murdering look he had, the urge his hands was squeezing your throat, the pleasure you get when you feel one of his teeth cracks under your fists… you win this time, but the war is still on. Now, you should be careful, more careful than Kieran, especially if you had Dutch against you. You didn’t want to involve Arthur into that too; despite he despises Micah as much as you. You sighed heavily and didn’t hear footsteps coming towards you.

“Y/N? It’s me, Arthur.”

You lift your head, removing the soaked rag from your face. Peace and quiet.

“Yes? What?” You sound a little rude.

“M’kay. Don’t want to bother you.” You could see his shadow turning over.

“Come in then.” You say hastily while you sit up, readjusting your shirt.

And he does so. Your tent seems even smaller with Arthur inside, he could barely stand up. He takes care to close the flaps behind him, and sits on your stool, opposite to you.

“You didn’t look that bad. How are you? I mean, with Dutch?” His voice was comforting.

“It’s okay, Dutch being Dutch. But… you whispered, I think he’s gettin’ fooled by Micah. How could you explain it otherwise?” 

He looks at you and answers after a few moments, whispering too.

“I don’t know. Hang in there, okay? I told you to not waste your time on dat.”

“No regrets though.”

He chuckles.

“Just let me know if things worsened.”

You simply nod.

He didn’t tell it, but you could feel he was somehow worried. Arthur’s finally get up, now he knows you were okay, and stays in front of you briefly, before putting a light kiss on your forehead.

“You should get up and eat something. Tomorrow’s another day.” 

Before he leaves your place, you speak to him gently.

“Thank you. For what you did before. Son of a bitch almost got me.”

“Don’t mind it.” 

***

The next days, you get back to your usual cores and you didn’t even try to avoid Micah. And, when you see his face after your exchange, oh you grin. Puffy bloody injected eyes, blacked orbits, parted lips, blue cheek from your try to tear it up, scabby nose… It was bliss, truly. Once, he caught you looking at your own work on him, and he gave you a murdering look, spatting toward you. It didn’t bother you, not at all. But what did, was the fact that day after day, Micah becomes more and more like a lick-spittle towards Dutch. You have seem both of them muttering in front of Dutch’s tent, you weren’t sure but you almost see Dutch looking towards you. Maybe you slightly got paranoid… Or not.

Few days later, you weren’t allowed to leave camp for a stagecoach robbery, worse, your right to go down town was also denied, Dutch’s pretending there was plenty of work here.

In one hand, Dutch was suspicious towards you, believing you will act like a mad dog and on the other hand Micah was completely free and starts to speak with you which was unnatural. He even tries to act friendly when everyone was around and every time, you ignore him.

Bill also starts to talk behind your back, but you got some support from the girl, especially from Tilly. She was fierce and trash talking with her was always cheering; in the end, you even speak about the speech Dutch made you about the fight. Despite that, this “game” last for two weeks, two long weeks. Give way, you remember and you try your best to do so, however it starts to affect your moral, you ended to keep a low profile for Dutch’s greatest pleasure.

***

“You okay there?”

This voice takes you off your thoughts, turning around, you saw Arthur settling next to you.

It was near midnight and you were alone on guard duty, sitting on a log cleaning your Springfield, quite away from camp. Camp’s hubbub was barely audible.

“Yeah.” 

It’s been a while you haven’t talk with him. In a way, with the recent events, you kind of avoid him, to keep him away from your troubles. And he was not often here too, he was a wanderer as he usually says jokingly.

“’Was waitin’ for ya to talk with me.”

He looks concerned. He always looks concerned. He lights up one cigarette, turning towards you.

“Sorry that I didn’t. But it ain’t that bad y’know.”

Around Arthur, you had always a faint smile on your face - face that recovered pretty well.

He handles you a cigarette and lights it for you, you mumbled a thank you.

You stayed in silence, smoking, hearing the sounds of the night finally relaxing after all this mess due to a fight. Resting your head on his shoulder you go on talking.

“Did Dutch speak with you?”

“No. Not really. But I saw what’s goin’ on. Micah is just a fool.”

You just hummed as an answer. He passes one of his arms around your waist.

“He fools no one.” Smoke escapes from his lips.

“Except Dutch.” You take a puff.

When both of your cigarettes were finished, Arthur gets up. Stretching his arms above his head “Could I, hu. I wait for you in your tent tonight, ok?”

“Sure.”

You throw your gasper to the ground.

He tips his hat and leaves you with the night and your duty.

***

Hours later, half asleep, you hear a crackling sound coming from the wood. Immediately, you get up and go to check what it could be, since the noise starts again, with something sounding like a death rattle – maybe it was Swanson? You go deeper between the trees, a little bit tense, looking frankly to your surroundings. You still walk into the direction from the sounds came first, it happens once again and then stops. You were now deep in the woods, not seeing the log you came from. On the ground you finally saw branches, fresh snapped branches, and footprints.

It was weird. You start to bend over to have a better view and at this point something tells you it was wrong, something makes you feel it was a trap.

“Well look who it is… camp’s maaad dog decoys by the sounds of the wild.”

A surprised gasp escapes you, but it was too late.

Without a sound, one arm came across your neck, drawing you straight back, as the other accentuate the pressure made by the first. Surprised, you let down your rifle and directly grab the arms that start to strangle you by behind.

“I got you this time, cowpoke.” Micah’s voice was full of wicked excitation, he added more strength in his catch. You don’t even believe he imagines this, to lure you outside the camp, waiting your turn of guard to sneak into the wood like a beast.

You grunt as you try to escape, kicking his legs.

“Aaand this time, I won’t let you do your tricks.” He tightens his grasp even more, lifting you up.

Already short of breath, you stop to scratch his forearm as you remember you got a knife by your side. With vague movements you reach down the hunting knife attached to your hip, grab it firmly and you stab him directly into his right thigh, up to the handle you hoped. A scream escapes from him and he looses his grip on your throat, you rush forward to put distances between you two, leaving the knife into his leg, catching your breath heavily. Immediately you turn over to face him.

“Rat!” You spat, feeling the rage boiling in you again, you adopt a wrestling position, waiting for him.

You can’t see well into this surrounding darkness but you hear him rushing towards you, punching your face like he does the first time, you strike back into his chin with your palm making him retreat. You don’t lose time and throw your elbows to his jaw, with a sharp blow. You can’t keep a safe distance as it was hard to see well in the night.

“First time wasn’t enough fo’ya!” You growls.

“Wait till I finish you”. His sentence was accompanied with a gleaming dash which hits your upper body, he ripostes with you own knife. “And I’ll do it again with your corpse!” The pain was throbbing, automatically you clamp your left shoulder with your hand, bleeding badly.

He tries to stab you again with the blade, you dodge it as you put your arm back into a fighting position. You won’t try to block him, afraid of losing a finger, or life in this case. Blood starts to run off along your arm, you flinched. Micah saw that and seems delighted.

“I’ll gut you! And Morgan ain’t here this time.”

“I need no one, wanker.” You were as determinate as Micah was drunk with revenge. He slashes again, you weren’t quick enough and he cuts into your forearm, blood squirts, you whimper. He feels stronger. The more he scurries the more chances you get to surprising him you thought. Crazed, his attacks became sloppy. This time you were ready.

Micah tries to strike your stomach, breaking the line, you didn’t block him. Instead of that, your right hand catch his wrist as your left arm goes under his elbow, turning over, you lift with all your strength your left arm, pulling him up, forcing him to turn around. Within a second, his back was in front of you, your right hand still firmly grabbing his wrist, twisting it. Then, you strongly catch his elbow with your left hand, pushing down with this one while pushing up with your right one to make him bow to the ground. And. You. Did.

You hear a thud as the knife goes hit the leafy soil.

Shouting in pain, you grounded him. He tries to get up, but you put your knee into his head pressing it. But you could not last long. The pain in your shoulder and forearm were too strong, blood splattered your clothes and Micah’s face. You have just time to get over him in a quick move. Your joined fists smashed into his twisted face as he grabs your ears and tear it, you freed yourself with a strong elbow blow into the crook of his shoulder and another to his chinstrap. He shouts. You feel your legs being soaked by Micah’s open leg wound as he twitches under you.

You won’t play anymore. You know Micah had guns everywhere he goes. You withdraw one from his holster and aim it to his forehead, with a threatening sound, within an accurate move. You dig your spurs into his wound, into his flesh.

Everything freezes. Micah stops drubbing you as you push his revolver between his eyes.

Your ragged breath was the only thing audible, then, slowly, he puts his arms above his head.

“You won’t…” His voice breaks. He was weak after all.

“Don’t ever try to touch or fight me again, or try to belittle me in front of a n y gang member.”

Your gaze was filled with pure hatred.

He don’t answer, but you see a mix of panic, frustration and hate into his eyes.

Exhausted by wrath and pain, in a smooth move, you pull the trigger.

A shrill bang ripped the night.

***

“Hi there!”

Days have passed since your encounter with Micah into the woods.

When you totted back to camp, everyone who was awake, at least tree people, understands that something happens.

They shortly goes into the woods to find Micah. You didn’t shot him dead, you shoot just above his head, into the ground before throwing his gun right into his nose. He took your warning at face value and chooses to go away from camp like an hermit to seek Dutch’s forgiveness this time.

He claims that every man made mistakes, every man show weakness once, and that when he’ll get back, it’ll be with enough money - or whatever he pretends - to get everyone out of here. Because he cares. Indeed, he didn’t say he was ashamed of losing face again. It wasn’t about you but about him and his short-tempered spirit who needs space to express itself. And Dutch, of course, lets him go.

Speaking about him, Dutch was evidently irate by what happens. However, it wasn’t in camp, it wasn’t your fault… with a self-proclaimed guilty person, he didn’t find something to say except “Don’t shoot near camp again, we don’t need to be noticed.” and show a clean pair of heels.

So here you are, sitting on the stony sand, facing the Flat Iron Lake and its small islands while you clean some saddles and bridles. 

“Hi” you answer at Arthur’s greeting.

He was bringing you a plate of Pearson’s stew, you took it gladly. He sits next to you.

“Any news?” He asks pointing your stitched skin under your entire collarbone and on your forearm.

“I think it’s fine. No more fight by now, promise, I don’t forget.” You squeeze his hand with a smile.

Now, you were sure about this. Nonetheless, who knows what the future holds.


End file.
